Unerasable
by NWMG
Summary: Joyce Anderson held no resentment towards her job. If anything, she loved the experience cleaning workrooms gave her. For years, she worked in "Show Biz", yet was always cast in the shadows, behind the curtain. Her mother being an Animator, she has to choose between her dreams or obligations. As content as she was, a single mistake will bring her not-so-happy world to and end.
1. Prologue: Dreams Do Come True

It was sharp, and left behind thick or thin scrawls of black. The questions, the answers, and the talent all showcased onto slips of paper. The dialogue just as fine-pointed as the pen, but then again all things witty dull with age.

Or so this story goes, that is.

With a firm hand, and patience, anything can be created. But make sure not to do it out of scorn, praise or carelessness. It is unwise to believe in anything with drives like these.

Though, careless stacks of ideas covered with wounding slashes piled upon a desk, is not the way to go about telling your story. The room was small, but the imagination expanded far further than the walls allowed in reality. The light was flickering, a lamp buzzed beside the desk on top of the chair.

The floor was covered in a large purple blanket, and underneath wooden planks doused with splotches of ink. A few creaks here and there as a sudden quiet filled that work station.

"Now, this," She lowered the pen down to curious eyes, "Is very important." Rolling it into her palm and out of the pinch of her fingers she continues, "It's what makes everyone move, and talk." She said with a smile, before a blur of purple snatched said pen out of her grasp. With wide eyes and quick movements, the little girl at her side began to shake the pen vigorously up and down.

"And is not to be taken for granted."

Gently placing hands over the child's, she settled the girls frantic gestures. "Momma, can you make them dance and sing again?"

Staring down at her little girl, she broke out into a grin. The little girl mirroring her Rosy cheeked smile.

"Sure, pumpkin."

Rising to a stand, her daughter's happy giggles making her chuckle too. Eyeing her desk, she glared heatedly at the piles upon piles of rejected character designs. The orange notebook hidden underneath a particular stack of ideas caught her eye. Slowly pulling it out, her heart leaped into her throat as the tower wobbled precariously, until it tipped too far forward, in her direction, and she stepped back in surprise. Her ankle caught in the blankets, just as the tower came down.

"Momma, are you okay?.."

There was a thin layer of drawn on sheets covering her lap, and it wasn't as terrifying as she would have thought. Grumbling to herself, she began picking everything hiding purple from her view. "I'm fine, pumpkin."

After that, there was only the sound of shuffling papers. There was a gasp, and she swiveled her head to face the noise. Only to see her daughter pointing at a drawing right side up.

"Momma, momma!" She crawled over the papers, not minding the crunch as several tore or crinkled. Her mother's face winced at the sounds, before a picture was shoved in her face. "Look! Look! Eddy!" She pushed it out of her nose, and in the tight hands of her daughter, almost wadded up in her excitement.

The drawing wasn't one of the best, but had the same features.

"Eddy?…" She questioned, scooping papers and making a place for them to sit comfortably as the little girl went on.

"Yeah! It's him! It's Eddy! The one you can make move!"

With an exaggerated sigh, she pushes papers into the trash bin, having no where else to put them. "That's Bendy, sweetie."

She tilted her head in confusion, and pouted. "No, Eddy." She pouted up at her mother who tried not to laugh. Moving beside her daughter, she nodded at the drawing. That was one of the latest versions.

"Okay then… 'Eddy'," She dug out the orange notebook that caused an avalanche, and opened it up to the first page. "Is what I've been drawing for a long time. And because it's been so long, no one likes him drawn this way anymore."

Since this was brand new, she was going to use it for her own ideas.

To collect and perfect her creations, to bring her ideas to life with Animation.

"I like it, Momma. He's really funny." She said with a giggle, kicking her feet around.

Ruffling her strawberry blonde hair, she shook her head at her childs words.

"Thank you, pumpkin."

That was her dream. To put her ideas on the big screen.

And now, when she finally has it in her grasp, it's thrown away because of someone elses carelessness.

"Momma look!" And yet again, another drawing was shoved in her face, but this time it wasn't her own.

It was torn in the middle, probably from her pressing too hard, and the body took up more than half the page. Not to mention the horns were too spread apart.

Holding the orange notebook in her hands, she rubbed away blotches of ink.

It was beautiful.

"Momma, can you please, please, please make Eddy move again!"

She decided that this would be her daughter's notebook, to make up her world, and create her own stories.

"Alright, calm down… It's getting close to your bedtime, and we always end the day with Eddy giving us a smile, right?"

She nodded, happily, clapping her hands. "Right!"

She would protect it with everything she had.

Her world may have been broken long ago, and her pen may have dulled from the years, but she can still keep her safe from the anger and judgemental nature's of people.

The book closed in her hand, and the scratching of the pen darting along the paper fluently from practice. Extra paper was every where, all you had to do was flip it.

With a thin stack of papers in her hands, she lifted the end, and her daughter leaned in excitedly.

A figure appeared from the right side of the paper, and with a large contagious smile, waved at the 'audience' as he stopped to stand in the middle. Before he suddenly stopped after bowing, words scrawled above his head.

With a circle, they were encased in a bubble.

"Dreams do come true"


	2. Chapter 1: The Light of My Life

There was a thick smell to the air. It always smelled like this, and he knew it would for as long as he walked in every day. Grumbling to himself in his wooden chair, another crumpled piece of paper went sailing to the trash bin. He was new to this, animating, this type of job called for patience beyond his limit. The hours took a toll on his temper as well. Daytime seemed to mesh into night, creating one big overtime opportunity. Not that he needed the money, well he did, but the pain he endured every single day was for one thing:

His own show. Surely, with this much experience of back-and-forth drama between coworkers, he could get the respect -and loan- he was looking for to begin his journey as a Creator himself.  
Don't make him laugh.  
This place was doomed from the start, but oh, don't tell Mister Drew that. Or anyone dedicated enough to stay here longer than two months. Which, as new as he was to this heap of imagination, brings him back down to Hell. Or, his workstation, if you would so call it.  
It was his third day, only his third and he was already introduced to one of the staffs most annoyingly goody goodies. He didn't need to get checked up on every two hours, to see if he needed more ink, or paper, or the light wasn't bright enough. He could get his own necessities, he didn't _want_ anyone to bother him in his concentration. What he actually wanted was to have his own room, not to be surrounded by two other wanna-be top notch Animator's.  
But he wasn't complaining.  
He enjoyed the few seconds being a part of the show gave him, the way the drawing's came to life filled him with such an elation. No other man driven happiness, of an object or a bond, could be an equivalent.

Gripping the pen tightly in his hand, he stared at the mess he had made in his attempt at sketching out his own character. A huge blotch of ink rested in the middle of its face, seemingly turning the previous smile to a dribbling frown of discolored water.  
"Damn.." He inhaled a long, weary breath of the thick air. Rolling the two halves of his now broken pen in the palm of his right hand, his shoulders slumped as he allowed his ink-covered arm to fall into his lap.

"Why now of all times?..." He relaxed his previously white knuckles against his forehead, feeling the obvious sweat trailing down into his left brow. Hearing past the pounding in his ears, he turned his head towards the chatter coming from across the room. Lifting his fingers away from his throbbing skull, he sent his gaze to the one provoking the rustle in the calm that was moments before.  
It was so quiet, so peaceful, the only sounds being pen to paper, and gasps as someone completed a slide. That was about forty minutes ago, earlier on in the day before _she_ started her ultimate quest of assisting anyone within a thirty foot radius.  
It wasn't even eight 'o'clock and for the two days of encountering this girl, she was always early to get to her job. She acts like she knows the place like the back of her hand, considering how fast she maneuvers to get everything done. It kind of frightens him how well she knows this place. It couldn't be possible that she's worked here longer than Melvin has. He's been around since dinosaurs roamed the Earth, yet the both of them speed around like Bendy on a unicycle.

She laughed, the noise stinging his ears like a knife wound.  
He didn't hate her, not exactly, he just didn't enjoy her company. That and she knew Henry, the one man he had always wanted to get to know. But he was always locked up in his workstation, almost as obsessive as Mister Drew was. Of all the chances he had to talk to the man he looked up to for as long as he's been here, she was there to steal him away with stacks of papers and new ink cartridges.

A few words draws his attention, and he leans back into his chair, the tightness of his skin where the ink landed from his previous 'episode' making him flex his fingers. Eyeing the splotches, as well as the practically sparkling young woman not fifteen feet away from him.  
"Yes, I understand. I'll get on that right away, but first could you explain to Henry that I apologize?" She was holding yet another stack of sheets. They seemed heavy, and he wondered if they were her own works, or everyone else's bits of soul. One of his other coworkers, a girl he didn't know, maybe her name was Alice? Either way, she handed her own stack of papers, thinner than what mine was, to the orange haired bubble of chaos.  
"I've been having a bit of trouble recently," He smirked. So work was finally catching up to her, huh? Can't keep up the perfectionist act. "But... It's around that time of year, you know, and I've just been down. I couldn't get much sleep these past few days, but tell him that I'll be on time starting from today on." She was talking to another co-worker he didn't know, but she apparently was meant to start her work earlier than eight.  
That meant he miscalculated, he was stuck with her no matter how early he himself got here, and she was coming this way with a dangerously determined glint in her eye that made him want to cover up his filthy table.  
Biting his lip, he prepared himself, and called out, "Oi! Joy! Get over here, I need ya." He felt her eyes on him, regret washed over his every feature as the dulled sound of her flats slammed into the floor with each step she took. Sure, he'll admit he was dramatic, but what else was he good for?  
Before he could take in another breath, a scent shoved the thick air away for just a moment, and it reminded him of a candy shop. And just for a moment, he could tolerate her.  
The optimism, the quirks, the glow of hope that surrounded her entire being. He could withstand it all, just to be able to breathe in with no resentment. Away from the dread that made the air heavy.  
"What in the- Your station is a mess! What did you do? Goodness, get up, before you-" She stopped, seeing his arm covered in the black substance that also decorated his tabletop. He was mildly pleased to have her so worked up over a little stain, and debated on ruining whatever he saw just to see her reaction.  
Of course, what he said about her being a rock in the ocean of life's terrors was true. She did give off that vibe of kindness, and joy.

Until she spoke.

"You already got it on you... Well, that's alright. What else is having a job good for if you can't show that you love it?" She hummed with a smile, causing his plastered one to falter. This is what he loathed about her, well, that's all he could possibly come up with.  
Her voice.  
It was just as light, and wispy with the accent everyone except him seems to have to boot. Now, he didn't want to judge a book by its cover as well, but she was a sight to see. She wasn't ugly by any standards, if anything he'd say she was beautiful.  
Just peculiar, with light hair, the color of a lampshade he used to have back home in California, just as light as her personality and voice. A shade he hasn't seen in five years, the color of strawberry mixed with yellow.  
"If I were you, it'd be easier to move closer to the table, my Mother once told me about being patient and steady with your swipes can come in handy if you mess up, so you can go with the flow,"  
Soon, after her multiple tries at 'helping' him, she considered herself finished here, and began to move on. Picking up her stack of papers she left on the floor, she caught sight of his shirt.

As she advised him to roll up his sleeves, with that light voice, he realized everything about her was as bright as the sun. Something that burned his skin, blinded his sight, and gave him a desire to hold what hurt him in the first place.  
As he watched her leave, the ankle-long skirt rippling like clouds around her legs, he grasped onto another epiphany.

Yes, she was dangerously determined and dangerously unaware of her place in this Hell hole.

* * *

Sighing, Joyce lifted yet another stack of papers into her more than capable, yet thin arms. "Surely at this point, people would learn to use their trash bins.." Walking past several people, some greeted her, some were far too nose deep in their work.

The sight lifted the edges of her lips in a smile, and she nodded towards Mel, who sat in the three section group near the collection of reels.  
The three of them were given the task of cleaning and setting up those reels, and making sure they worked properly. The thirty-four year old man grinned in response to her slow wobble in their groups general direction.  
"Sorry! I seem to be carrying more than I can handle..." She smiles sheepishly, and managed to almost slip and send papers everywhere. But she held herself high, and carefully stepped around the mess of ink, making a note to clean it up after she was finished sending this stack off.  
"No need to apologize, Joyce. Our newbie made a fool of 'emself this morning, _again_." Mel stuck a thumb to his left, the familiar red vest concluded her thoughts. "Oh, so that _is_ Clyde." At the sound of his name, the man jolted in his spot. Sounds of scrambling pens and papers made her raise an eyebrow.  
Melvin narrowed his eyes as Clyde sat up slowly, acting casual before his eyes rested on Joyce. The baby blues seemed to pop out of his skull, before he swiftly turned to face his desk.  
She squinted at him in playful suspicion, as Mel explained.  
"Every time I turn to check on the reels he's spose' to be cleaning, turns out he's doodling again and again." With a creak of his chair, Mel leaned closer to the subject of the conversation. "An' I warned 'em what would happen if I caught him not doing what he's bein' paid for." With a screech of Clyde's chair, he scooted away from Mel. As the tension thickened, Clyde rolled his shoulders and tugged at his tie. Before the tension could be thick enough to cut with a knife, Mel let out a cheerful laugh.

"I'm just kidding, Bennett. Don't break out into a sweat now, alright?" The clearly shaken man let out a sharp breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Shoulders bunched, he worked his jaw in thought.  
"'T's all good..." He muttered, black bangs covering his quick glance to Joyce.

The peppy girl, who was getting slightly tired of holding the stack of papers, rocked on her heels. Mel immediately took that as the sign of her about to leave. If anything that girl was known for, it was her ability and need to stay on her feet at all times. Walking, running, jogging, sliding along the floor in just her socks.  
"Well, surely you gotta get goin'." He smiled at her, and she returned it. "Yeah, I need to drop these off. Bye bye now!" She calls over her shoulder as she hurries away, flats softly pressing into the wood below her.

After the hyperactive girl left, Mel turned to look across at his partner. "Listen, if you keep acting the way you do, you'll get fired _and_ she'll figure it out." The dark-haired man scoffed, and shoved his piles of crumpled up papers aside.  
"I don't know what you're thinking, but I doubt its true." He crossed his arms, raising a brow at the older man. Mel shook his head, and held up a reel for inspection, humming a soft tune.  
"She lights up your life better than that lamp hanging above your head." He states simply, setting the reel down, atop the fifth in his stack. "You can't lie about the way you look at her, son." He lifted another reel onto his desk.  
"I look at her like I look at anyone else." He eyed Mel, who ignored the glares Clyde sent him in-between pauses of his sentences.  
"Yes, and anyone else is the sun."  
"Blindingly?"  
Mel gave him a smile, a knowing grin that didn't meet his dark brown eyes, opposite Clyde's crystal blues.  
"In awe."

* * *

Trekking the long hallways wasn't as tiring as standing still for ten minutes with eight pounds of papers in your arms. Joyce turned the corner, and music played in an office she passes , the door was closed though. Continuing down this particular hallway, she finally reaches the large garbage can, and dumps the pages into the chasm. It seemed endless, but she knew it was merely saddening to look at.  
All the work and time spent, yet it all goes to waste.  
Straightening her posture after staring into the large bag, she remembers about the mess on the floor by Mel, Clyde's and James' work stations. Patting her skirt, she decides to take a short cut to the main work room, only to almost miss getting slammed in the face by a door.  
Her nose was an inch from the wood, and her eyes rose to the name plate.  
"Henry-"  
Her thoughts were interrupted, as the said man stormed out of his office, a single piece of paper held in his hand as sheets seemed to pour out of his room. Joyce blinked at the mess, and seemed to contemplate her choices.  
Earlier, she was given a favor after she talked with Victor about being late for these past few days.  
Victor was an Animator, and he was currently in charge of this months animation, since it was his idea in one of the meetings. After Victor left to work on the set up in the Studio, Alice went up to her again and asked her to give Henry her idea.  
 _"She's very important, okay? I've had her around for years, and I just.." Her blue eyes watered. "She deserves to be known, even if I won't be recognized for her character.."_

Joyce stepped over the piles of papers, and followed Henry down the long stretch of hallway. Alice was worried she was going to be laid off, and wanted to leave something of hers behind. She only wanted to make the show big, as popular as it deserves. Just like her character deserved to exist on the big screen.  
Narrowing her eyes, Joyce nodded to herself. If it was up to her, then Alice's dream would come true.  
 _"Her name is Wendy, and she absolutely loves to sing."  
_ Doors passed her vision, she turned corners, almost tripped over thin air, and the familiar hallway to the Studio had her freeze. Henry was no where in sight, and she was closer to breaking a rule than she ever has been.  
She's lived here her whole life, and she has _never_ entered this Studio... Not what she remembers, that is. But for what seemed an eternity, she's dreamed of working in there.  
"Maybe... I can go back to his office and wait.." She dug the toe of her black flat into the floor, biting the inside of her lip. "Maybe.."  
She edged close to the wall, and she felt eyes on her. She knew no one was actually watching her, or so she hoped. But with the pressure, it felt like she was committing a crime.  
"Maybe he's not in the Studio?" She didn't want to call out and announce her presence, even though it'd be easier to just get his attention if he was here, and explain the situation. But something in the back of her mind told her to be quiet, and she begged her curiosity to ignore the ability at hearing what she shouldn't hear.  
It was obvious at this point that there were people in there, she should've known since Victor and a few more people were setting up.

Carefully tiptoeing to the doors, she gently pressed her ear to the wood, and closed her eyes in concentration. A part of her was screaming to stop, and the other was gripping the sheet of paper she dug out of her pocket, wanting to help Alice.  
 _"-eally? Oh, that's a great idea, Joey! How could you do th-"_ That was Henry, and he sounded pretty angry. No, he wasn't angry, he was surprised. Joyce frowned, it had become harder to hear what exactly they were saying. Instead of chunks of sentences that gave her something to work with, there was only a few words.  
 _"Shut..- Fully capable-.. Dangerous?!-... Can't..-"_ Joyce shook her head, and moved away from the door, just as it slammed open and this time she couldn't evade the impact on her nose.  
Shoes clacking away had her turning to Henry, who was storming back down the hallway he came from, and Joyce held her nose in her hands. Looking between the bloodied door, the opening in the wall from the space the hinges gave her, and Henry.  
She jumped about ten feet out of her skin as the door was quickly slammed shut, and she scuttled after Henry with no second thought.

"H..-Henry!" She calls, and he pauses, glances at her, and sighs, slowing down. "What is it, Joy?.." He asks, running a hand through his brown hair, his glasses were folded into his white shirt pocket. The more she looked at his disheveled state, the more she figured out that something really bad happened in the Studio.  
"I... Um, well.." She began to backtrack, not wanting to upset Henry, who was as pale as a ghost. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, and rubbed his forehead. "Joy, I need to get back to drawing. Please, hurry." Joyce furrowed her eyebrows, and rocked on her heels.  
"Uh... Alice wanted me to give you this, because... She's worried she'll get laid off.. And, well, here.." She handed him the folded sheet, and he eyed it carefully, unfolding it.  
He slid hid glasses out of his front shirt pocket and unfolded them, sliding them on his face.  
"Her name is Wendy, and-"Joyce began, but was interrupted by Henry, who smiled down at the drawing.  
"She likes to sing, and dance. She's the best there is, but don't let her skirt fool you. She hate's being girly." Henry sighed, and nodded. "Yeah, I know about Alice's character. She talks about her in her free time, and to be honest, it suits the show."

Joyce smiled, but Henry sighed again. "But Alice is going to get laid off. We have a few more people, in Joey's terms, more capable of animating than Alice is... Even though we hardly gave her a chance, she's new and there's no attachments so its easier to fire her because hardly anyone knows her.." Henry explained, folding the sheet of paper and putting it in his front pocket, keeping his glasses on.  
"That's unfair to her. She's worked as hard as she could," Joyce started, and Henry rose a hand. "But it's not enough. I already talked to Joey about this, he won't change his mind."  
Joyce eyed the floor, and a hand ruffling her hair brought her eyes up.  
"It's okay... Knowing Alice, she'll find a way to bring herself back on her feet. She's that type of person." Joyce smiled slightly, and Henry removed his hand. "It's getting pretty late, why don't you head over to your Mother's office?" Henry suggested, and Joyce nodded.  
"Alright. See you tomorrow, Henry." Joyce's smile widened seeing Henry nod.

After parting ways, Joyce did as she was told and went to her Mother's office, knocking on the door as she jogged up to it. "Hello? Anybody in there?" She called, the nameplate tilted slightly out of place. Turning the rusted knob, she shrugs and enters in.  
"Coming in!"  
She almost slides on the large purple blanket covering the floor, but steadies herself and the silence greets her.  
Closing the door behind her, she flops down on the large pillows decorating the floor along with the makeshift bed. Falling back, she star-fish lands into the comfort of her own room, and stares up at the ceiling.  
Her joyful smile slowly crawls off her face, and she turns on her side, reaching for a pillow. Grasping one, she pulls it to her chest and hugs it tight.  
The silence was still there, and a shiver breaks out across her skin.

Humming a slow tune, she sings herself to sleep, a few words dance on the edge of her tongue,  
 _"This is my song..."_ Softly and surely, she sings. _"To carry on..."  
_ Hugging the pillow tighter, she takes a big, slow breath. One to give her back her hope, and her dreams. _  
"When you have found yourself alone, and I am gone..."  
_ She tried not to worry, and tried not to forget.  
 _"So I will wait.."_ Her body shook softly, as she couldn't hold back anymore. " _Anticipate..."  
_ Just three more days.  
 _"Every last minute that we have to..."  
_ Three more days... _  
"Celebrate.."_

Three more days until I have to celebrate the anniversary of my Mother's death.

* * *

 **AN:/  
Alice is not Alice Angel.  
**

 **If you enjoyed this, expect more. I update as soon as I possibly can.  
For just today, I'll put my Disclaimer at the end, because for the first two chapters -prologue and chapter one- I like to throw anyone into my story.**

See you when I see you.


	3. Chapter 2: Calm Before The Storm

**AN:/  
Disclaimer: I do not own Bendy and the Ink Machine.**

 **I do however, own my Original Characters. Clyde, you lucky boy, my little Joyce, and Melvin too.**  
 **This update took longer than I thought, because I had to sort out the progress of the plot.**  
 **(I will be honest, I get too excited for future events, and start to rush through things that are meant to make those events meaningful.)**

 **If you have any questions, ask away in a review or PM me. This also applies if I get anything incorrect that's set in stone in the game.**  
 **Other than that, enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

It was early in the morning, far too early for the one person everyone needed. Stacks of papers, broken cartridges, and missing pens were everywhere as far as the eye could see. The main work area grew from clean and calm, to messy and chaotic. As crazed as everyone was, the cause of such a disturbance was as clear as the desks that lined the walls.  
Stumbling through her room, Joyce Anderson couldn't help but feel like she was in the middle of a war zone, not an Animation Studio. "Wha... Are they rioting again?... But I thought Drew complied?.." Having a blanket as a floor didn't help much with her half-asleep state. Gripping onto the chair at her Mother's desk, she squinted through the wad of hair in her face, and the numbers on her clock blurred. Accidentally pushing the chair outwards, she almost slammed into it from her jumbled pathway.  
Rubbing her eyes, she took a few steps towards the wall and reached up to snatch the clock off it's nail. "Time, time.. I need the time.." She mumbled, still drowsy. Bringing it up to her face for closer inspection, a sudden shake of the building sent her retracing her steps.  
Feeling herself begin to fall, she turned to grasp onto something, but managed to land right in her chair. Blinking rapidly, her eyes could focus after the jolt of adrenaline.  
"Five thirty-two. It's not even time for me to wake up yet... No wonder I was so sleepy.."  
A sudden slam of the door made the clock slip from her fingers in another bout of shock. It crashed to the blanket-covered floor just as Henry bolted in. "Joy! They need you in the Main Work room!" Joyce tensed her shoulders, and lifted a hand in surprise at his sudden appearance and outcry. That, and with the way he was walking, he was bound to hurt himself.  
"No, wait! You'll fa-"  
With a yelp, the bespectacled man slipped on the large blanket and fell face-first. A moment of silence passed, and after a groan of pain and embarrassment, Joyce jumped up out of the chair and ran over, immediately trying to help him up.  
He waved her off, and pointed at the door. "Go, now, it's a disaster..." He patted the area for his glasses, and as Joyce stood up, she couldn't help but nudge them with her foot closer to him. "Seriously, go now. They'll calm down once you start helping around.." Gripping his lenses, he sighed in relief and put them on. "It was-.." He seemed to have something else to say, but paused. Joyce frowned, but did as she was told, hurrying in pulling on her flats. Grateful that she had slept in her clothes from yesterday, she left the room in a hop, left flat bent at the heel pushing into her ankle.  
 _"The idiot, how could he just- They weren't ready..."_ Henry's voice traveled from inside the room, and promising herself to check on him later, she ignored the curiosity and questions bubbling up.

By the time she turned the last corner, the Workroom was unrecognizable. Wayne, Ronald and Mary's desks were covered in ink, the pipe above them had burst, which is what probably caused the commotion. The black substance covered the floors, her own shoes about halfway underneath the liquid. Paper wads were being thrown in anger, the recent work having been ruined from the sudden flood. Melvin's desk had been turned over, reels peeking out from beneath the ink. Clyde was nowhere in sight, and James was helping collect the ruined reels, beside Mel who was hunched over, turning his desk back into position.  
But that wasn't the main issue, it was the people arguing with each other, shoving and pointing, screaming and insulting.

Pressing a hand to the wall, she felt the urge to blend in with the shadows since the light was broken above her. This had happened only once before, and that was because of her. She was around eight, and was trying to get Henry to play hide and seek. He always said "He was really busy," and "He'll play in a minute", but he used that excuse every time she asked. A minute turned into countless hours, and it left her lonely in her childhood. Yet she never gave up in her pursuit to have fun, and it ended with her almost drowning in an overflowing amount of black. She could still remember how frantic Henry was, and that Joey couldn't turn off the ink machine. That was when the Studio regularly used the basement, it gave them extra space and places to set stacks of reels, ready for use and ready for the bin.  
 _"Does it look like she's okay, Joey?! The glass that shattered cut her legs and arms, she might get ink poisoning."  
"She's fine, Henry."  
She swallowed too much, we need to get her to throw it up."  
_ _"She'll be fine."  
_ _"She's having trouble breathing,"  
" **Henry**."  
_ A paper ball flew right above her head, and she instinctively ducked, her train of thought breaking. Eyes wide, she glanced to both sides of the room, checking for any more projectiles. Walking forwards, her flats glided through the ink, the substance meeting the middle of her shoes.  
A few heads turned at her entrance, though she continued striding towards Mel's workstation, where he was still working on cleaning up his own and coworker's workstation. Crouching down, she noticed how many reels were ruined from the flood. She lifted one out of the black liquid, noticing her skirt's ends slowly soaking up what amount it touched. Nestling a few more reels into the crook of her arm, she lifted her gaze to the busied man next to her.  
Mel was grumbling to himself, picking up another reel soaked in the substance, setting it onto the table beside him.  
"Morning Mel." Joyce greeted, and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Not much of a morning." He stood up, and she followed suit. "Everyone's mood was ruined not even five minutes into the day." He remarked, and she shrugged, though it was noticeable she was having some trouble with the load she was carrying.  
"I'll take these, thank you." He pulled the reels out of her arms, and Mel shot her an amused look, only for her to retaliate with sticking her tongue out. "It's obvious we'll lose more than a few people now." Setting the stack of reels onto the desk, he let out an exhale of frustration, setting his hands on his hips. Looking down on all the lost time and work, he felt a pointed stare jab into his back.  
"I know, I know, I'll talk to ya' during break." Mel shoved his hands in his pockets, looking mildly sheepish. Joyce crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "You never take your break, and if you do, it's only to help Victor or Sammy in the Studio."  
Mel chuckled, a smile curving his lips, before mockingly raising his hands in surrender. "A'right, I can tell when I'm cornered." Joyce lifted her hand, shaping her fingers into a gun, and tilting her hand backwards, "Blam!" She 'shot' him, and he pressed a hand to his heart, faking a dramatic death as he gasped. Waving happily, she grinned, "Bye bye, Mel! Call me if you need anything!" And she bolted to assist Mary, the closest person in need of assistance. Though question were coming to a boil, and she couldn't help but worry over the few missing people.

Struggling to keep the pipe closed, a chair was dragged to give Joyce extra height, and she stood beside Mary who had climbed onto her desk. Though she was a bit cautious of the furniture, she kept a strong pressure on the glass. "Sorry, Mary, I had to help Mel." Joyce apologized for taking longer to get around to each person, but Mary shook her head. "No, no, sweetheart, I'm good. Go help Arthur, he's the one everyone shoved to get rid of the sheets." Her eyes dart down to the floor for a moment, and she narrows her eyes. "It hasn't lessened up. The flow has slowed down, but it can't be because of what spilled.." She whispered to herself as Joyce got off the chair, scooting it as a stepping stool for Mary when she needed to get down. "Oh, thank you, Joy. Hurry up, now, else he'll make an even bigger mess." She shooed her away, like Mel did before.  
Frowning slightly, Joyce felt like she wasn't doing her job, and the thought of being useless made her eyes sting. "Okay.. I'll get going.." The small ache in her heart was muffled by the smile she smacked onto her face, and quickly shifted gears, racing over to the rookie stumbling on his own shoelaces.  
The young man had disheveled hair, a bright orange, and it contrasted with the pale colors of the walls and dark ink against the floor. He was practically a lighthouse, his hair was so bright.  
He was indeed having some issues with all the papers in his arms, but he looked confident in making it all the way downstairs, to the large trash deposit.  
"Hello, Arthur!" She cheerfully called, and he jumped a bit at the sudden burst of positivity. Glancing over his shoulder, his round glasses drooped to the tip of his nose as he looked down at the beaming woman. "H-Hello to you too, uh," He seemed to stare at her features, trying to recall something. "I'm sorry, I tend to forget names rather than faces." He apologized, and if his hands weren't occupied, he would've put a hand to the back of his neck.

"It's all good, but names aren't the problem here," His eyes were equally beautiful, a green like the leaves that decorated the trees in Spring. A color Joyce rarely sees, but never forgets. "It's the amount of papers you have." She points to the shaking pile, but the ginger glares down at the stack. "I can help you. Here, let's split it," she offered, but he shakes his head, quickening his pace down the hallway. "No, no, it's fine. I got it." He didn't want to bother anyone needlessly, plus he knew he could handle sending a few papers to the bin. Even if the tower rose higher than his head.

"Well, I'll follow ya' to the Trash anyway. I haven't had the chance to get to know you yet."

Joyce followed eagerly nonetheless, leaving him flustered at how abrupt she was. Her accent seemed to flip on and off, because one moment he felt like the world was melting around him, and the next he was being scolded by his mother. "W-Well, can you just tell me your name then?" Arthur didn't want to pry, but he had to know something about her since she was going to keep trying to strike up a conversation.

"Not until you let me help you."

Arthur deflated, puffing out his cheeks. He really didn't want to bother anybody, but she seemed like the stubborn type. Stopping, he lowered the papers so she could get a handful, and humming happily, she took half, leaving him admittedly comfortable with the lessened weight. "I'm Joyce! I work here too." Arthur nodded, speeding up to match the peppy steps of 'Joyce'.

"But I wouldn't call it work, I've lived here my whole life, so it's Iike a big house to me." She rambled, and Arthur was content with just listening, being a quiet person by nature. "It's great to see new people come in, with amazing ideas for our show." Practically skipping, Joyce nods to Arthur, who focuses on her words as well as the stairs they soon descend.

"We have so many talents here, and I know you're a rookie, but I'm positive you'll find your talent." Taking the first step, she adjusts to the papers blocking her sight below. She also paused in her chatting until they reached the last step.

"There's been more than a few times where people slipped on ink, and hurt themselves. So you gotta pay attention in case there's a mess nearby." Arthur nods respectfully to her warning, and she hurries along. "Drew tries his best to maintain the safety of the studio, but like this morning, sometimes things turn out for the worse…" she fades off as the large trash disposal nears. "No matter what he does, its never enough…" Joyce presses the bottom of the papers to the edge, and carefully slides them in, making sure they wouldn't veer off to the side.

"But that's what I'm here for! To help Animators and Voice Overs alike!"

The bin was lodged in the farthest corner of the second to last floor, and boards decorated certain areas of the walls, indicating doorways leading to deeper parts of this floor.

"I understand, Miss Joyce." His tone seemed wary, and Joyce followed his curious gaze to the planks of wood before sighing. "Because of the flood of 09', Drew boarded up most of this place… it used to be an added floor for the Animation crew, back when the show first started."

Though not meant to be explored, Arthur felt a small twinge at the base of his spine, sending goosebumps to travel over his forearms. It felt like something was down there, watching him. Through the cracks in the ceiling, floor and walls.

"I-I've been down here before, but I've only handed off these papers to other people down here as well…" Arthur eyed the boards lining the area again, while the pale haired woman pointed to the staircase just across the room, through the doorway.

"Usually Mel stays down here for a third of his break, if he's not working in the Studio that is." She gave a pout, and gestured for Arthur to follow her back after he finished dumping his own half of the stack. "But as you can see, he's not here." He traced Joyce's steps up the eerily creaking floorboards of the staircase.

Gripping the railing tightly, sweat trickled down the back of his neck, a deep foreboding resting itself in the pit of his stomach. Leaving his heart a pounding mess.

"Since you're new, and names are still fuzzy wuzzy for you, his full name is Melvin Douglass and has dark brown eyes, tan skin, really tall. He's in Reel Management, along with James Meador and Clyde Bennett." Joyce explained, and Arthur hardly kept up with her pace. She was speeding through the hallways faster than his own leisurable stride. "James has grey eyes and brown hair as well, Clyde gs black hair and blue eyes." Inhaling much needed oxygen, he couldn't spare a sigh of relief at seeing the Main Workroom again. "We're back! It was nice talking to you, Arthur." Joyce happily jumped on the tips of her toes. "I hope I helped you out."

They had traveled the expanse of the building in minutes, leaving him breathless. "Oh- uh, really, it was great. I enjoyed it very much, Miss Joyce." After an awkward pause, in the middle of turning to leave after biding her goodbye, Arthur blurted out, "And yes, thank you for explaining things to me. Thank you."

She blinked rapidly for a few moments, and with his free hands, he shuffled awkwardly, shoving one hand in his pocket, her stare causing him to scratch the back of his neck with the other hand.

But before he could apologize, the corners of her lips lifted into a warm smile.

"You're very welcome Arthur."

Joyce waved, and bounded over to the closest Animator in need of assistance.

Arthur was happy to be upstairs once again, with bustling people, with sound. It was terrible that there was an accident, and he's happy no one got hurt, but out of all the chaos that simple trip down one single floor had him weak in the knees. There was something down in that room, he just couldn't place it. No, there was nothing.

Just a haunting silence. It swallowed up any sound, and if no one was there to remind him he wasn't alone or that the quiet was absolute, he would've believed he'd gone deaf. It was the type of silence you wouldn't want to experience, or to be the person who broke it.

It frightened him to the very core and he could do nothing to ease the fear that clenced his heart, making it beat as frantically as it had when he was in that room a few minutes ago.

Nothing could be done to something that wasn't even there in the first place.

* * *

 **AN:/ This took longer than expected... But life got in the way and here early in the morning I am posting this for any night owls.**

 **I have a test today at 11 an. Can't wait.**

 **I also just realized how much I love the word bespectacled. Its a fancier word for, "Hey guys! This vague person wears glasses!"**

 **Thanks for reading and I hope you liked this chapter! The plot will thicken soon, giving you, the reader, a lot more insight to Joyce's childhood!**

 **Above all else, the only other thing I can say is the side OC's are important as well. Very important. Don't ignore them, they give you insight on the main character!**

 **See you when I see you!**


	4. Chapter 3: Dreams, Illusions?

**AN:/**

 **Non-Traditional Ink Poisoning** ** _(a.k.a that weird Joey concocted shet)_**

 **Symptoms usually when ingested are:  
Nausea, Dizziness, Sore Stomach, Forgetfulness, Hallucinations, Loss of Consciousness**

* * *

"Joy!"

Ink still slathered the floors, making it nearly impossible to walk anywhere, and left many perched atop their ancient bulky chairs. Staring at her like birds, with bulged eyes, she knew it was at her expense, they needn't't track any shoe-prints. Yet it left many restless and apologetic, and some rebellious and followed suit in her attempt at cleaning like she was assigned to do.

"Joyce!"

She was willing to hop large distances for the sake of those birds. In fact she seemed to chuckle at the mere idea of the resemblance, and left a pep in her step after the first round of delivering an assortment of ruined sheets. There were so many, she knew it was the first phase before the soaked Reels, and _oh goodness-_ she had to puff her cheeks in dramatic humor, she spotted a little boat of an ink canister, following the familiar work-scarred, tan, guiding hands of-

"Anderson!"

Smile faltering for a split second at the abrupt tone of the voice, she locked eyes with clear blue- they seemed troubled. Not akin to the skies outside as she has seen before- her eyes softened, recalling the clouds, the color. _Oh how long it's been since she was last outside_ , before the papers in her arms were roughly snatched out of her gentler grasp. Blue eyes were cold, the chilled winter of December without an embrace or blanket to keep you warm, it hurt her, made her shiver involuntarily, realizing it was meant for her.  
"Anderson, Anderson, Anderson," He spoke with a vivid consonance, like the name itself rose bile to his throat, he had to force it out of his mouth- past the teeth, the emotions. It was like ringing a bell one too many times. "I have been calling you for the past ten minutes, you haven't so much as gave our section a glance, why-" He abruptly stopped, just as abrupt as his calling before, like it was unintentional. He immediately gazed down at the papers, as if he saw something on her face- no, in her eyes he couldn't bear. He looked as if he were confused, like he didn't belong, yet the clear even _soothingly_ understanding look on her face sent him back to his seat before he could finish his sentence properly.

"I understand. I'm sorry, Clyde, I'll get right to you guys as soon as I possibly can."

He couldn't even confront her, he couldn't even stay angry, and that made him even more livid in a suffocating way. So he was left hunched over in his seat, perfectly shined shoes covered in a substance blacker than his heart, and crumpled the papers in his hands- feeling the sting.

"Miss Joyce!"

She was on her way again, her trips. She just wouldn't stop running around. She long forgot her flats. She stomped around in those things, made sure anyone around her noticed her presence because she's snuck behind everyone nearly twice since she officially began working here- either startling mid-stroke, or mid-pen dip. Either way, it ended in a ruined sheet. So there Joy was, making sure everyone was as satisfied as could be, her white socks soaked at the toes from how she tiptoed when a leap between ink splotches on the floor was too far. She was graceful, though there were many times when her luck ran out and she almost fell into the thin layer of ink. Raw talent, he thought, raw untrained talent and it made him watch her through her runs, gripping the top of his chair when she'd rushed to get to a precariously wobbling stack of papers on the far end of the room- that was Arthur, damn him again, always causing a ruckus- He knew the boy was clumsy, but who with any sense would tower perfectly _clean_ sheets like that? He truly considered he was up to no good, and shaking his head he moved his gaze to a lone ink bottle at the floor, and his brown eyes lit up, wrinkling at the edges.  
"Hey Mel, d'ya mind helping me out here?" A voice chimed beside him, and he could hear the shyness oozing from the boy at his side, a shadow looming over him as he got to work on his new mini-project. "M-Mel? Hey, um, d-do you mind helping me out he- wait, what are you doing?" He begun to ask again for assistance in carrying the large amount of reels in his arms, James also began to consider how terrible of an idea this was as his arms started to shake. "Mel..." Watching him take a broken pen nib, the toothpick from out of his mouth and painters tape, he stuck- "Hey, Mel." er, whatever it was inside the short wide bottle, "Mel!" adding a little triangular piece of ruined paper smiled softly at his creation and turned to peer up at the sudden shout, only to witness a raging James Meador, within an inch of his strength, carrying over fifteen perfectly _not ruined_ reels in his arms.

"MEL HELP ME"

With a gaping maw, Melvin hurried to take all of the weight off the incredibly skinny boy, and set it onto the table- reconsidering the amount of sense this _entire room_ possessed. He wasn't deaf to what nearly everyone was saying, the rumors, the _lies_. Looking amongst the ruined room, the frustration, the people seemingly giving up on everything, he frowned. A deep scowl broke out lines he hardly allowed anyone see, James himself hurrying to get everything done, the humorous mood now dissipated to at least himself, not as naïve as James. He also realized how much that boy had in common with Joy. His eyes bright, his smile small but genuine, his optimism obscured by his nervous shuffling.

They didn't belong, things were changing.

He was lacking sense too, he supposed.

* * *

Wiping her brow, she slumped her shoulders, before wincing as the muscles connecting her joints twinged.

Rolling her shoulder blades, she frowned at the lack of feeling in her fingers, a cold sweat covering them. Clenching them as she strode back up the stairs for another time, she wiped them down her skirt as it ruffled between her legs- soaked at the middle- Arthur slipped and dragged her down with him. Clicking her tongue at what was left of today's accident, she kept her pace, hopping to each clear path, much larger than before, Mel had been cleaning up all the ink. The unanimous flustering of the people in the room before she left to the bin told her it was one of their breaks- the few Joey gave them, for lunch. Now it was barren of life, except her. Even Mel had gone down to the basement in a rush uncommon in the slow-paced man. Pausing to stand in between two desks, she stared at the spilled ink adorning the wood- it seemed to seep through all the cracks, cracks that withered the wood from age. This place was so old, ancient and broken. There needed to be a change, there _will_ be casualties. It was something she didn't want to ponder over.  
Sighing through her nose, she put her hands on her hips and gazed at the large crack in the pipe running above those two desks- Mary's and Alice's-  
 _Alice.._ Joyce's smile faltered, as a solemn frown graced her features. Willingly taking a step into the layer of ink covering the floor- most of it was mopped up, and sent somewhere else in the building. It seemed like not a drop was to be wasted, and yet there were leaks, breaks, snaps, gushes and..-

 _gushes?  
gushes, gushes,-... gashes, pins and needles-_  
Blinking, the dull ache receded, the one she didn't know was there until she could breathe complete again. Blinking, she bent her toes and felt the socks rip themselves from her skin, stepped away from touching the crack, her hand had reached out to test the waters- the ink, making sure it was stable enough. Now it was at her side, and shaking, uncontrollably and sweaty. Unbelievably sweaty and cold.

Stepping back, stepping back, stepping back until she felt a soft hand on her shoulder only to turn and see Melvin leaning against the doorway to the staircase to the basement, downstairs- the boards, countless boards piled up to block anyone from going any further down. It would be permanent, it wouldn't change, the flood was what caused that to keep people out, the flood that she-  
 _gushes gashes, gashes, pain, pi-_ "Joy?" A hand on her arm, warm to her chilled skin but it did nothing to her pounding skull. "Wh..- y-uh.. y-yes?" Her eyes felt hazy, out of focus for a brief moment. As terrible as she felt just then, her knees wanted to buckle at this sudden change, it soon passed and instead of pain causing weak knees it was fatigue.

"Oh, hey Mel! How..How're you?" Her voice wavered, slurred, seemingly from her thickened accent- from exhaustion, Melvin supposed. "Oh, I'm dandy, y'don't look too good y'self though.. Things okay?" He probed again, she hadn't heard him the first three times.  
Eyes following his own, as he squinted and suddenly rubbed at them, the scars present as he shook his head at the discomfort. "Joy, ya never let yourself give a moment's pause, unless yer sleeping lik'a log,"  
He was terribly nearsighted, one reason why he was put in Reel Management. "What's on ya mind?"  
Joyce remembered him, her eyes focused on the scar residing on his left temple, how his eyes had that same haziness, yet held a patience.  
She remembered how much he loathed his job, he got angry. He changed many things here, including himself from how he acted in years past.  
"Joyce."  
Blinking rapidly, fingers laced in the fabric of her skirt, she shook her head, a smile plastering itself instinctively on her face. "Sorry, yes?" Her brain seemed to kick back into over drive at the tone, he used her full name and she internally panicked, Mel let out a sigh through his nose.  
"Are ya okay?" He stressed his words, as he took a step to raise a hand to her forehead, eyes looking at her face, and squinting the same way again- where the scar crinkled and those lines made him look like Joey beside his mouth returned.

Furrowing her brows in concentration, feeling like she was going to tear her skirt, she nodded determined. "Yes. But..- but that doesn't matter, have you heard anything at all?" Voice unwavering, she felt that ache boil in her stomach. "Anything? " She repeated, wanting to change this topic.  
"Joyce, no, I'm not blind yet, I can tell you're not feeling well-" Mel saw right through it.  
"Mel, please I'm fine, just tell me what's going on," She intercepted, and his wrinkles disappeared in true concern, her voice wasn't-"Joyce, don't-" she crossed her arms and put weight on her left hip, "I hate being in the dark."

Following her movements, he sassily mimicked her,

"You know that!- stop, Mel," she let out a laugh as he shook his head like one of the toys he's made before- where the top shook worse than James when he had to introduce himself to the crew on his first day.  
"You know that!- stop, Mel." He gazed over to her, as her short giggle turned into a chortle when his voice raised a few octaves, her skin returning to it's natural glow. The pain seemed to dissipate, her hands warm but not damp, she felt... okay now. It was like a wave, or the tide rushing in only to pull back, so.. so far back only to crash again larger and louder.

"You promised me." She pointed, her eyes seemed to feel heavy, and she wasn't going to lie after he gave her a pointed look. "Fine.. I'm just.. a bit exhausted, is all."  
He rolled his eyes, "That wasn't difficult at all, now was it?" He huffed, grumpy attitude returning as soon as he gave her a once over, glared at her in warning to see if she'd break and tell him the truth in case she was lying, and leaned back onto the desk beside them.

After a pause, he looked towards the pipes, his eyes seemed to fade in their warm color. Joyce couldn't help but lean forward to hear the low rumble of a chuckle, deep in his chest as if this were all a joke to him.

But his eyes..

"They're plannin' another riot."

He muttered, low and he crossed his arms, as if for comfort. He looked like a parent having to explain the world and its cruelness to a child, yet not knowing exactly how.

And Joy couldn't help her eyes from widening- they couldn't afford another one.

"Again?" Voice raising, she was given a quick glance to quieten her. "I-I mean, this time was albeit more dangerous that the other accidents," Her gaze flickered to the pipe, "but they must know Joey is trying his hardest to keep them pleased-" Mel raised his hand, and she knew to shut her mouth as he stared out at the expanse of the room. Over the years it's grown cramped, smaller and smaller as Joey hires more and more people.  
"He's.. it's..." He shook his head at the floor, "-Joyce, ya won't understand. In yer mind he's gonna look perfect, but..." His frame seemed to buckle in on itself for a moment. "Thing's just aren't like that anymore.." He muttered, and as she opened her mouth to retort, or say something in defense of Joey, he narrowed his eyes at one particular floorboard. "I _know_ ya, ya want to say he's got it rough dealin' with all these people, he's got an entire Studio to run, to take care of- but things are changing, Joyce." She shook her head and stared at the flooras well, she could put a note on each creaky floorboard, speed through the halls, she couldn't see what he was talking about- all she's known of Joey, the Studio, the crew- everything here was her home, her family wasn't good enough now? That it was apparently ruined, needed to change...  
.. _was?_  
"Joy, I know you've lived here all yer life, it's all ya know, but ya can't-.." He walked over at her, her eyes watering unknowingly. "Ya can't afford to ignore this." He whispered, eyes warming in concern for the girl, she was as young as James- she was as hopeful as he was, determined and optimistic. _"Not again, you need to talk with him, set things straight. Cos' if ya don't settle here, give it a purpose, ya won't last."_  
She wasn't rational. His voice was buzzing in her ears, he was telling her to accept that this place.. _. "Not even with yer Mother's request." ..._ her home, her _home_ was going down.. they were so close. She shook her head, lip quivering as she thought back to everything that was created, all those amazing works, the lifetime her Mother slaved into this Studio, countless faliures, brilliant successes, rights and wrongs, happiness, frustration,

 _They were so_ _ **close**_ _..._

He wanted to comfort her, yet he stayed still in his place in front of the other desk.

"Joyce, Joyce..." his voice faded at the second call, his own selfish worries bubbling up, rooting him to those floorboards like a tree urging itself to blossom, "I'm sorry but.. you can't stop it this time..." His tongue tasted a bitterness. Yet the water this tree flourished under wouldn't let it bare the fruits it yearned for.  
"It's.. this- this is.. my home, you can't just.." Her voice shook and she merely slid down into the chair behind her, head in her hands.

"Joey will.. " She wiped her eyes with the underside of her wrist, and shook her head multiple times, accepting the comforting hand of Mel. Looking up at him, she smiled.  
"He'll.. He'll do something, he always does- he'll bring us all back up, like before... before the flood, we'll be okay again," She assured, and Mel could only look down with an emotion she couldn't place- "he's got to do something, he has to or..." maybe because her eyes were so blurry, she couldn't afford to cry. She built herself up as a rock, a sturdy one that would believe in a better tomorrow. A rock that could withstand any crash of the ocean.

Her eyes seemed to squeeze into slits at this thought, hidden behind her hands.

Quickly standing, cutting off Mel, she waved him away, clearing the lump in her throat, "I'll get back to cleaning everything up, go on and enjoy the rest of your break, Mel." She ended it right then and there, heart aching.

Leaving the room in a rush, her steps were wobbly, seemingly uncoordinated, bounding corner after corner she forced the thought of how unfamiliar everything had gotten. She needed to get back to work, even as she stood on unstable legs. A faint warmth of passing conversations led her to believe lunch was over, and that time passed quickly while grieving.

Things were still going to go on as per usual, at least until later on in the day. It was twelve-thirty and everyone came back from their breaks, and around four this evening someone new was coming, and Mister Lawrence would work with them. Just like Henry's calender claimed, today was going to be a big day.

"We'll be fine. We'll be okay." She seemed to mumble under her breath as she stared out in front of the Studio room, heart burning with a flame, an even deeper ache like those words weren't for everyone but for herself. Someone new, completely new again and again, so many new people... and yet..

"New people means new oppurtunities for the show."

 _Not for me..._

* * *

 **AN:/ This was a lot longer than I intended, but it is mostly filler- to explain where everyone is, how the Studio is faring. And how Joy begins to fall apart... which is why it took so long because it dragged.. on... forever. So I had to change it, multiple times. But I can say my writing style hasn't swayed from over excessive detail, aha.**

 **Anyways, hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely morning, evening or night!**


End file.
